


Changing Seasons

by Lillyjk



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Army Ranger Phil Coulson, College Student Clint Barton, Come as Lube, Dom Phil Coulson, Dom/sub, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, Slow Build, Sub Clint Barton, Virgin Clint Barton, Wounded Phil Coulson, past Grant Ward/Phil Coulson (mentions only), peggy carter is the bomb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillyjk/pseuds/Lillyjk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Still not answering my question, Aunt Peggy.” Phil reminded her. “Remember, strange sub as a roommate?”</p><p>“Oh no, I would never do that.” She let out a little huff as if offended by the very idea. “You actually grew up next door to this young man. I met him when I dropped in on your mother last week. He was one of Ms. Johnson's foster kids: Clint Barton.”</p><p>“The circus kid?” Phil had a vague memory of a gawky kid with oversized features and dubious haircuts.  He was forever climbing the big oaks in Ms. Johnson’s yard and hanging around in the treetops with a bow slung over his shoulder. He'd been thirteen or so the last time Phil had seen him, right before Phil left for the Army after college. Between college and the Army, Phil's visits back home had been sporadic, and truthfully he'd never paid much attention to the kid even when he was still at home beyond a few stilted conversations. Definitely not a set up then, because the kid Phil remembered was in no way what Phil would be attracted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changing Seasons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [raiining](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/gifts).



> Raiining asked for: 
> 
> Other characters/pairings you would love to see in your fanwork: nick fury/natasha romanoff, steve rogers/bucky barnes, sam wilson/maria hill  
> Other characters/pairings you DO NOT WANT to see in your fanwork: clint/other, phil/other, bucky/other, steve/other  
> Tropes/genres/kinks you would love to see in your fanwork: BDSM, ABO  
> Tropes/genres/kinks you DO NOT WANT to see in your fanwork: baby-play daddy!kink (pacifiers, etc)  
> 2-4 Story Prompts or Requests: jewellery-heist-two-robbers-against-the-world AU; stealing a christmas tree for christmas prompt; Clint-and-Phil-are-friends-in-childhood-and-it's-christmas-AU  
> 2-3 Art Prompts or Requests: first-kiss-as-teenagers; kiss-under-the-christmas-tree; kneeling-Clint-dom-Phil-kiss  
> 2-3 Other Fanwork Prompts or Requests: sub!Clint, dom!Phil mixtape  
> Highest rating you want to see: I'm good with everything from practically gen to heavy erotica
> 
> I don't think I gave her any of this exactly but maybe bits and pieces. I ended up creating an alternate BDSM universe with Clint and Phil as childhood neighbors who end up thrown together by fate (in the form of Aunt Peggy) as adults. I had intentions of making this a quick little sweet Christmas fic but it sort of grew and grew and I never made it to Christmas. This will be a continuing verse although the story as written is complete. Thanks to my lovely betas - you know who you are (the one who helped me plot this thing out from the beginning, my last minute fresh pair of eyes, and my D.C. native) all three of you ROCK! Any flubs/errors left are strictly my own.
> 
> A note about the Sub Protection Laws that are mentioned: in this universe, there are some pockets of the U.S. that still view subs much the same as minors. They have to live under the supervision of a dominant, whether actually collared or just in a guardianship role.

 

 

Phil glanced absently at the caller ID on the phone before hitting the accept button, “Hi, Aunt Peggy.”

Peggy Carter's clipped British accent filled his ear. “Now Phillip, I want you to promise you won't be angry with me but I have a little help coming your way.”

Phil scrubbed a hand across his face; since he'd been injured overseas and shipped back home for recovery following an honorable discharge, Aunt Peggy had sent three “helpers” his way.  He was starting to regret taking her up on her offer to stay at her D.C. brownstone while he recuperated.  It had seemed ideal because she was rarely in residence and it was less than an hour to the Army hospital at Walter Reed where he received treatment and rehab therapy.  He hadn’t been up to, physically or mentally, looking for his own place after he got back stateside or god forbid, moving back home.

“I'm doing fine with no help. I nearly have my full range of motion back and as soon as this cast comes off I'll be ready to re-certify for firearms.”  He scratched at the exposed skin of his bicep where the cast that covered his left arm from elbow to palm ended.  He’d had a lower body workout in the morning and a short therapy session in the early afternoon and his shoulder and chest were aching even more than his cast covered arm.  The scar tissue crisscrossing the left side of his chest and left shoulder had much less give than the rest of this skin and the exercise and physical therapy was supposed to help keep it from tightening up so much that his ability to move was permanently compromised.

Peggy continued like she hadn't heard him. “He should be there any time now and it all worked out so perfectly well. He needs a dom's protection while in the city. You know these antiquated sub protection laws are just ridiculous. You Americans. The thought that just because a person is submissive they can't be trusted to navigate --”

“Aunt Peggy,” Phil interrupted. He didn't want to be rude, but he'd heard Peggy's view on US sub protection laws at length on several occasions. While she wasn't technically his Aunt, she'd been fast friends with his grandfather back in the early days of Strategic Scientific Reserve, SHIELD's predecessor. She'd been a sort of honorary member of the Coulson family for decades before Phil was even born and for some reason she'd taken a special interest in him. “Aunt Peggy, what exactly is going on? What sort of help do you have coming my way?”

“Well, he's an absolutely dear young man and he's actually starting the physical therapy program at Marymount University. So, he'll be just what you need. He can help you with taking care of the house until you're fully healed and he can run errands. And,” she paused. “Perhaps Phillip, he can keep you from locking yourself away like a hermit until you start at SHIELD.”

“I haven't accepted the offer at SHIELD.” Phil reminded her.

“But of course you will, dear. Don't be ridiculous.” The way she said it made it seem like Phil's future employment at SHIELD was a foregone conclusion. “Such an excellent opportunity for a young man with your skills and your devotion to serving your country. Your friend Nick is there already and making quite a name for himself, I might add. But now, back to your helper. There's plenty of room there. I'll be overseas for at least the next few months and there is no need for you to be rattling around my brownstone all by yourself. He really is the most delightful young man, Phillip. He can move right in. You should put him in the room beside yours.”

“Wait a minute,” Phil tried to wrap his head around it. Peggy's other “helpers” had been hired to check in on him a couple of times a day when he first moved in, when he was still in the throes of depression over the end of his military career and the end of his relationship with Grant. This was something altogether different.

“You're telling me a sub I don't even know is about to move in here with me? This isn't another attempt at a set up you cooked up with Mom is it? You know I'm perfectly happy being single.” Which was good, because he would probably never find a sub that would find him attractive with the the giant scar mucking up one side of his chest. Oh, and then there were his “abandonment issues” as the Army psychiatrist had so delicately put it.  Evidently being left for dead in a war zone and then left again by his so-called devoted sub while wounded had done a number on Phil’s ability to trust.  

Peggy sighed into the phone, “Not a set up, dear. And yes, yes, you've let us all know how hideously disfigured you are. I've seen it, Phillip and you look even more dashing with your battle wounds. The stories I could tell you about a certain young man back when I was in my prime. He was paralyzed from the waist down in the war… well, let's just say that he more than made up for any perceived disabilities with what he could do with his -”

“Aunt Peggy!”

“Sorry, my mind does wander sometime. Perils of old age. I do wish you wouldn't let your opinions of all subs be distorted because of that stupid Grant fellow. I know he was pretty but truly you deserved much better. The fact that he was scared off by a little blood and gore and didn't want to see you through your rehab is his loss.”

“Still not answering my question, Aunt Peggy.” Phil reminded her. “Remember, strange sub as a roommate?”

“Oh no, I would never do that.” She let out a little huff as if offended by the very idea. “You actually grew up next door to this young man. I met him when I dropped in on your mother last week. He was one of Ms. Johnson's foster kids: Clint Barton.”

“The circus kid?” Phil had a vague memory of a gawky kid with oversized features and dubious haircuts.  He was forever climbing the big oaks in Ms. Johnson’s yard and hanging around in the treetops with a bow slung over his shoulder. He'd been thirteen or so the last time Phil had seen him, right before Phil left for the Army after college. Between college and the Army, Phil's visits back home had been sporadic, and truthfully he'd never paid much attention to the kid even when he was still at home beyond a few stilted conversations. Definitely not a set up then, because the kid Phil remembered was in no way what Phil would be attracted to.

“Yes,” Peggy said. “That's right. Such a pleasant young man. Attended college on an archery scholarship if you can imagine. And now onto physical therapy school. Poor thing, he was quite distressed when he discovered that the D.C. area and the entire state of Virginia still required uncollared subs to live under a dominant's protection.   He was thinking of dropping out completely and finding a more sub-friendly environment.”

“So,” the pieces were starting to fall into place. “You met this kid and offered him the protection of my name as a dominant and the use of your house in exchange for running errands and helping me keep up the place.”

“Yes,” Peggy said. “That sums it up nicely. He's going to do a bit of gardening for me as well. Now, I really must go, Phillip. Meetings to attend and all. Clint should be there anytime now so promise me you'll be your charming self and let him tend to your needs. If he doesn't think he's being of any help to you, he'd be too proud to accept any help and I just can't bear the thought of such a nice young man missing out on opportunities. I worry for him Phillip, he's just the sweetest thing.”

Phil rubbed the back of his neck with the hand that wasn't in a cast. Be nice to the geeky kid and let him run some errands. Phil could do that. “Sure, Aunt Peggy. I'll watch out for him. Don't you worry.”

“I knew I could count on you, dear. There are extra keys to everything in my desk drawer. Make sure he knows he’s free to use the car as well.  Bye for now.”

She hung up before Phil could say anything else and he found himself staring at the phone with a slightly amused expression. In her mid-eighties, Peggy Carter was still quite a force to be reckoned with.  He could only imagine what she must have been like in her prime.

He made a half-hearted loop through the house to make sure he didn't have any underwear lying about and then paused in front of the mirror to take in his own appearance. At just shy of thirty, he still looked pretty much the same as he had in high school. The hair was maybe a little thinner, but his shoulders were broader and he considered that a fair trade. He was wearing sweatpants; jeans were too much to bother with when he only had one operational hand. His Ranger tshirt had seen better days, but really, it wasn't like he was trying to impress the kid anyway.

The Clint Barton that Phil remembered had been scrawny, with eyes too big for his face and a series of truly unfortunate hairstyles. The few times that they'd interacted, the kid had mumbled and stared at his feet and left Phil with the impression that he wasn't very smart. Of course, that had to be wrong Phil realized now. If Barton had made it through college and was accepted into PT school he was most likely a very intelligent young man. He probably just lacked in social skills. From what little Phil remembered of the kid’s background, he’d probably had a rough way to go to end up in foster care even if Ms. Johnson was a sweetheart.  Lord knew that Phil had been a huge nerd at thirteen and probably just as socially awkward with his Captain America obsession and a body that was all knees and elbows.

Phil did a quick calculation in his head, Barton would be around twenty-two if he already had his undergrad degree. God, he hoped the kid had gotten a decent haircut before college or he'd probably spent the last four years using his archery skills to defend himself. Phil smiled at his reflection in the mirror. It would be nice to help the kid out; maybe get Phil's mind off his own problems for a while.

The doorbell rang as if on cue and Phil found himself eager to answer the door. Maybe this Barton kid could be his pet project; Phil could help him fit him. If the young sub was anything like what Phil remembered, he'd have a hard time attracting an interested dom in the meat market of young D.C. hipsters and would need all the help he could get.

He was still smiling when he opened the door to welcome in the poor, socially awkward, Clint Barton that he remembered.

What he found on his doorstep was someone that looked like he'd walked right out of Phil's wet-dream.

The last nine years had been very very kind to Clint Barton.

The bad haircut was gone, replaced by sun streaked dirty blond hair that looked soft as silk where it framed a baby face and wide blue green eyes. His mouth was a pale pink pucker with a full bottom lip that looked like it was made to wrap around Phil's cock. He was maybe an inch taller than Phil with a chest and shoulders that filled out his plain gray t-shirt beneath a beat up looking leather jacket. His faded jeans molded to every inch of well-muscled thighs. He had a motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm and an overstuffed backpack slung over his shoulder. “Sir,” he said, inclining his head and looking up at Phil through a fringe of dark eyelashes. “I don't know if you remember me, I'm Clint Barton.” He held out a tentative hand. “Ms. Carter said she'd let you know I was coming.”

Phil nodded, suddenly aware that he was commando underneath the thin sweatpants. And his neglected cock was very interested in the gorgeous young sub on his doorstep. He grasped Clint's offered hand with his good one, relishing the feel of the skin to skin contact briefly before letting go. “Sure, sure.” He stepped back, motioning Clint inside.

“Clint, from back home.” He paused as Clint walked in, his eyes dipping down to his absolutely fantastic ass. “I wouldn't have recognized you.”

Clint gave him a shy smile. “Can't say the same for you, Sir. You look just how I remember you.” The tip of his tongue flicked out to wet that full bottom lip that had so caught Phil's attention. His gaze dropped to the cast on Phil's left arm that extended from his elbow to his palm. “Except for this.”

“Yes, I had a little disagreement with an IED a few months back in Afghanistan.” He shrugged, ignoring the way the movement made his left shoulder ache. “The IED won. Bad breaks of all the bones from the palm to the elbow,” he patted his chest. “Some shrapnel in the chest.” That left jagged scars so ugly my sub couldn't look at me, he thought but didn't say aloud. “I've got at least another two weeks in the cast and then some intensive physical therapy after that.”

“Sorry, Sir.” Clint said softly.

Really, Phil thought, he should tell the kid not to call him Sir.

But he didn't.

“No, it's okay.” Phil said, wanting to put the young man at ease. “Anyway, Aunt Peggy said to give you the run of the place and... hey, where's your stuff anyway? You rode a motorcycle here.”

Clint laughed, “Yeah, just brought a few things in my gear bag for the trip” He patted the backpack sliding off his shoulder. “Ms. Johnson is shipping everything else out by freight. I might be a little under dressed for a the next few days until the rest of my clothes get here.”

And didn't that paint a lovely picture in Phil's overactive imagination? “You can borrow anything you need from me,” he said, and he couldn't help it if his voice went a little huskier than normal. He really liked the idea of seeing Clint in his things.  “We’re probably about the same size.”

Clint blushed and if that wasn't just the prettiest thing Phil had ever seen. “Yes, Sir.”

Phil's good hand itched to reach out and feel the heated skin on Clint's cheeks, see if it was as hot and soft as it looked. Instead he said, “Follow me, I'll show you around.” He pointed at a little table in the hall, “You can stash your helmet there.”

He gave Clint a quick tour of the kitchen, dining room, downstairs bath and living room and waved in the general direction of the small suite of rooms Aunt Peggy kept for herself at the back of the house. “Although as far as I can tell she never actually stays here, she travels most of the time either working with the UN or visiting friends.”  He gave Clint a wry smile.  “I guess you can tell that she makes friends everywhere she goes. Everything else is upstairs.”

Clint nodded and then followed Phil up the narrow staircase. “I really can't thank you enough for agreeing to do this. I didn't even think about the D.C. area still having those old sub protection laws on the books until I was trying to find a place to live. Heck, I was between putting an ad on one of those roommate sites for a dom or just dropping out altogether when Ms. Carter came along.”

Phil paused at the top of the stairs, surely at twenty-two and looking the way he looked, Clint Barton couldn't be that naive. “You do realize those roommate sites aren't really hooking up roommates. Even the so called credible ones are just a front for paying arrangements. It's in the news here all the time, things like forced collarings. And worse.”

“What?” Clint looked scandalized. “No. I thought maybe...” he rubbed the exposed skin at the base of his throat like he was imagining a collar being snapped around the tender skin against his will. “I, uh, Ms. Johnson didn't really believe in exposing us to a lot of the outside world. I mean, we had a TV but no cable, and I only used the internet at school.” He ducked his head.

“But, you've been to college. You've lived away from home,” Phil countered. Because Clint couldn't be saying what Phil thought he was saying. Mr. Walking Wet Dream of a Sub couldn't be as innocent as he was coming off because that made Phil...that made Phil either really fucking lucky or some kind of pervert because he was thinking of all the delightful new experiences he could introduce Clint to without ever leaving the confines of this house. Except that Phil was in no shape to introduce Clint to anything anymore, not with the ugly map of scars under his shirt.

“Actually, I went to the state university one town over.” Clint shrugged. “I had an athletic scholarship that paid my way and since I was a sub they didn't require that I live in the dorms. Ms. Johnson let me stay on at her place even after I aged out of the system.” His shy little smile was back. “I helped with some of the younger kids and worked on my degree. Didn't have much time for anything else. When I decided to go on and get my PT degree, my grades were good enough to get into Marymount and I got a pretty nice scholarship, so here I am.”

“Yeah,” Phil nodded. “Here you are. I'm glad you ran across Aunt Peggy, I'd hate to think of what might have happened.” God, a city like D.C. full of doms with too much money and power and too little ethics would chew Clint up without even trying.

Clint was blushing again. “Me too, Sir.”

Phil looked at him a moment longer. In the wrong hands a beautiful inexperienced sub like Clint could be so easily broken, instead of treasured like he deserved to be. Looking at him made Phil want things he hadn't wanted since before he was injured.  

Phil remembered the look of horror on Grant’s face when he’d seen what the shrapnel had done to Phil’s body, how Grant hadn’t been able to look him in the eye after that.  Hell, he’d never even bothered coming back to the hospital to say goodbye after that first visit, just put in his request for transfer under the Distressed Sub Regs and quietly disappeared from Phil’s life.  He’d left Phil a letter, something along the lines of “I can’t stand to see what’s happened to you.”  If a seasoned soldier like Grant couldn’t deal with Phil’s injuries, there was no way someone like Clint could.  Better for Phil not to let his mind go down that particular path.  

He finally turned away and gestured toward the stairs to the third floor. “There’s the making of a home gym on the third floor if you want to use any of the equipment and some space I’ve set aside to use as an office. You can take a look at that on your own.  You’re welcome to use the gym space, but I’d ask you to leave the rest alone.”  Phil didn’t want to linger over the thought of Clint stripped down to gym shorts and a sweat dampened tshirt, muscles straining as he lifted weights.

Phil turned back to the landing.  “The bedrooms we’ll be using are on this floor.  I'm in the room on the right, Aunt Peggy said you should take the other bedroom.  There's a small ensuite attached to both bedrooms but we'll have to share the full bath that's in between for showers or baths.” He raised the arm still encased in a cast, grimacing when a pain shot through his shoulder. “I'm going to apologize in advance for getting water on the floor. I pretty much have to shower with one arm hanging out of the tub to keep this dry.”

Clint laughed, “Tell you what, I know a really good trick with a garbage bag and duct tape that'll get you waterproof. Just give me a shout before your next shower and I'll fix you up.” He stopped laughing when he took in the pained look on Phil's face. “Oh, hey. You're hurting aren't you? I've got you all out of routine and you look like that shoulder's starting to tighten up.”

Phil forced himself to smile, “I'm getting used to it.” He opened the door to what would be Clint's bedroom. “Hot showers help so I'll probably take you up on that garbage bag trick tonight.”

“Sure thing, Sir.” Clint walked past him, shrugging out of the jacket and tossing it across the end of the bed along with his backpack. “I'm beat from the ride in, but after a nap I'll be good for anything you need.” He stretched his arms over his head, trying to work the kinks out of his back. The movement made his tshirt ride up, revealing a tantalizing stretch of golden skin between the low waistband of his jeans and the rucked up hem of his shirt. A thin line of dark blonde hair trailed down his belly.

Phil very much wanted to trace it with his tongue. He forced himself to back towards the door. “Yeah, no problem. I was just going to reheat some leftovers for dinner and I've got plenty to share if you want to join me around 7:00.” It was just past four now, surely to god Phil could get himself under control in the next three hours.

Clint smiled at him and toed off his boots. “Sounds great, Sir. And afterwards we can get ready for a shower.”

Phil was positive that Clint had no idea how that sounded but that didn't help the boner that was about to make his sweatpants positively obscene so he just grunted his assent and pulled the door shut behind him.

**

Phil Coulson, Sir,  looked pretty much exactly the same. Clint stretched out on the bed and ran a hand down his belly. A few lines around his eyes maybe, and god, those shoulders, Clint didn't remember them being quite so wide. But otherwise, he was the same guy that Clint had spent most of his adolescence pining over.

Phil had already been a teenager when Clint moved into Ms. Johnson's house and Clint had spent that first summer watching Phil play baseball with his friends and mow the yard in shorts that showed off muscular thighs and a tight ass. He'd been about the same height then, not quite as broad through the chest and back but with the same little half smirk half smile. Clint had been utterly tongue tied around him as a kid and wasn't much better now. Every time Phil had spoken to him, Clint knew his cheeks had flushed.

Clint had known that he was a sub as long as he could remember and he’d known Phil was a dom from the first time he'd laid eyes on him. It was that easy commanding presence he had, the way he could make an order sound like a request, it was the way that Clint found himself unable to meet Phil's eyes when he older boy spoke to him on the rare occasion. Hell, even as a kid, Clint has wanted to go on his knees for Phil Coulson. There was something about him that called out to that part of Clint that wanted to give up all control, to turn over everything to someone worthy of all his trust.  His gut told him that Sir could be that person.

Until today, Clint hadn’t seen Phil Coulson in half a dozen years.  The last time he’d laid eyes on Phil, he’d been in uniform, fresh from Ranger school.  Clint was sixteen at the time and had created dozens of fantasy scenarios involving the creative removal of that uniform.  He’d been too awestruck to even make his presence known that day, and he doubted Phil even knew Clint had seen him.

Clint had never really expected to lay eyes on Phil after the soldier left their small hometown for good.  Oh, he kept up with where he was through the town grapevine but never had he imagined that years later he would find himself sharing a house with his boyhood crush.  Clint had still thought about him on occasion, wondered what sort of man he’d grown into.  Every once in a while he’d catch a glimpse of an Army uniform and his breath would catch as he remembered the beautiful young man with the kind eyes and the lean body.

 

The hell of it was Clint still wanted to go on his knees for Phil Coulson.  Only now Clint was all grown up and so was Phil…Sir.

**

A week after Phil first got his unexpected roommate, the Clint-induced boner situation was getting worse instead of better. The kid was just so fucking attractive and seemingly unaware of both that and how said attractiveness was driving Phil to new heights of sexual frustration.

Clint persisted in calling him “Sir” even though Phil had told him repeatedly that he could call him by name. Every single time he said it Phil wanted to put him on his knees.  He wanted Clint to call him Sir while Phil had his fingers buried in his ass, working him open, wanted Clint to gasp it while he was choking on Phil’s cock, that soft pink mouth puffy and slick with Phil’s come.

Clint's classes didn't start for another few weeks and he'd spent the last week working in Aunt Peggy's neglected yard. The first few days he'd done it wearing Phil's borrowed clothes that seemed to be either too big or too small depending on the item so that there was always an excess of golden sweat-sheened skin on display whenever Phil happened to glance out the window… which he happened to do repeatedly. One unseasonably warm morning Phil had stood at the window for half an hour after Clint stripped his shirt off while trimming the overgrown shrubs. He'd watched the play of muscles in Clint's arms and chest as he raised the trimmers up to cut back each branch and he'd had to force himself not to jack off right then and there. As it was, his hand had been halfway down his pants when Clint happened to look up and see him, giving him a little wave before he went back to work.

Phil had felt like a total pervert.

But he'd taken an extra long shower that night and pretty much every night since Clint had been in residence. His left hand might be useless in the cast but Phil was pretty sure his right hand had never been stronger based on the increase in his masturbation sessions alone.

The showers were another problem. Every night Clint insisted on wrapping Phil's cast in a garbage bag and securing it with duct tape so that Phil could take a shower without worrying about getting his cast wet. It worked really well, but it also meant that Phil had to spend an excruciating five minutes or so with Clint within kissing distance as he put the makeshift waterproofing on Phil's cast. Clint would be pressed right up against Phil's body, close enough the Phil could smell the fresh scent of his shampoo, could see the little multi-colored flecks in his eyes.

The first night Phil had flat out refused to remove his shirt beforehand despite Clint's argument that it would make more sense to strip down before he put the garbage bag/duct tape contraption on. Even though the wounds on his chest were healed now and the scars were fading to a pale pink instead of the livid scarlet of a fresh wound, Phil couldn't bear the thought of this beautiful boy with his flawless body seeing what he looked like underneath his clothes. Thank god removing the garbage bag waterproofing was easier than putting it on.

When he wasn't working in the yard, Clint had basically taken on the role of house sub. He'd taken over most of the cleaning, grocery shopping and cooking despite Phil's protests, and even Phil had to admit that Clint was a much better cook. Even when Phil had both hands at his disposal, he had a pretty limited repertoire and stuck to the basics. Clint had spent part of his childhood in the circus and part in foster care and his cooking reflected it. He could throw together a mish mash of ingredients and make something absolutely delicious.

The help around the house meant that Phil could no longer in good conscience ignore the large stack of information SHIELD had sent over as part of their “come work for the good guys” pitch. Even with twice daily workouts and three times a week rehab sessions crafted to maintain his fitness and slowly rebuild his strength and stamina, Phil had time to seriously consider his future for the first time since his injury.

**

Over the course of the first couple of weeks sharing a house with Sir, Clint felt like he was getting a tantalizing taste of what it meant to serve a dom for the first time in his life. Clint had no memory of his mother and his own father had been a bitter angry switch. Even though Ms. Johnson and Trickshot had both been dominants, his relationship with them had been more parental than anything else.  With Sir, no matter what he said Clint couldn’t think of him as Phil, and Clint found himself yearning to do things to make the other man’s day run smoother.  He found himself wanting to do things to bring smiles to his face, to ease the little lines of tension around his eyes.  He wanted to make Sir happy and please him in all the ways a good sub could.

If Clint got hard each time Sir complimented his cooking or said thank you when Clint surprised him with a cup of tea; if Clint liked to pretend that he belonged to Sir; if he liked to think about showing Sir just how good he could be with his hands and mouth and ass; well, Clint had spent the better part of his formative years fantasizing about going to his knees for Phil Coulson.

Every night when Clint helped Sir get ready for his shower he had to fight the urge to drop down and press his face into the other man’s crotch and beg to suck him off.  Due to his injury, by necessity Sir’s wardrobe consisted of sweatpants and tshirts, neither of which did much to conceal the well-muscled body underneath.  Clint wasn’t sure what sort of underwear Sir wore but it did absolutely nothing to hide the very large cock that hung heavy along Sir’s thigh. Clint spent long hours in his bed wondering about the shape of it, the length and weight of it, what it would feel like in his mouth, on his tongue.

Standing so close to him to wrap Sir’s cast before his shower, and yeah, Clint probably stood a little closer than strictly necessary, was an exercise in frustration.  Clint could feel the heat emanating off of Sir’s body, sense the tightly controlled power that simmered just below the surface.  It made Clint’s heart beat faster, his pulse quicken, his fingers tremble at the task of securing the plastic to the cast.

In those moments, Clint was positive that Sir had more than a passing interest in him as well.  He saw it in the way that Sir refused to meet his eyes, fixing his gaze somewhere over Clint’s shoulder and holding still as a statue when Clint pressed close.  The way he gasped and pulled back the one time Clint accidently on purpose let his fingers slide under the sleeve of Sir’s t-shirt and brush along the raised ridge of scar tissue just out of sight.

He caught Sir looking at him sometimes when he thought Clint wouldn’t notice.  He looked at Clint which such intensity in those moments, his mouth drawn into a tight little smile that made a surge of pure want flow over Clint.  In his bed at night, Clint analyzed those looks, re-lived every moment and shivered as he fucked into his own hand and wondered what it would be like for all that intensity to be translated into action.

It wasn’t that Clint was totally inexperienced; he’d dated on occasion, flirted with the idea of letting one of the interested dominants take him home. There had been a pretty blonde domme in one of his classes that he’d gone out for coffee with and then a few dinner dates.  Bobbi had been beautiful and when she’d asked him to go home with her he’d been very tempted but in the end he’d known that he wanted something else.  He hadn’t known exactly what it was he wanted, what it was he was looking for. He knew now.

He wanted Sir.

**

 

Phil sat sideways on the couch, his feet tucked up under him. His back was against the armrest, his bad arm tucked between his body and the back of the couch. His knees were bent, one of the SHIELD information packets propped up against them. It had been a double workout day today and one of his shoulder rehab sessions had been bumped up a day at the last minute so his whole body was tired and aching. His cast was due to come off tomorrow and he had mixed feelings of excitement and dread about what to expect.

Clint had taken one look at him when he got home and ushered him to the couch with a cup of hot tea and orders to rest. Clint was always doing things like that, bringing Phil drinks and snacks and fussing after him if he pushed himself too hard. Clint's classes started in a few days and he'd channeled all his nervous energy into Phil, helping him work through some of the PT exercises he couldn’t do on his own and wade through the SHIELD information. Phil had accepted the job and was due to start in another two weeks, pending his full medical release and firearms re-certification.

Over the last few weeks he and Clint had fallen into an easy routine, and Phil wondered how much that would change with the start of Clint's classes and Phil's new job. Now, even though they ended up spending most of their daylight hours apart, they shared dinner and hung out together for a while before shower and bed. It had been nice. Really nice.

They talked about how they spent their day, Clint telling Phil about the trips he'd made to campus for orientation and to visit the book store. He was starting to learn his way around the area before school officially started and had even met a couple of people in his program.  Phil talked about his PT sessions and what little but he could share about SHIELD.

Usually Clint ended up settling on the floor in front of the couch where Phil sat as they watched a movie or some of the really bad TV that Clint had never been exposed to before. Phil loved introducing Clint to new shows and seeing how his eyes went wide and disbelieving at some of the antics of the characters.

There was so much more Phil wanted to show him.

Phil shook his head at the thought, it wasn't like he had any claim to Clint. He would make his own friends once school started, maybe even find a real dom. Somebody young and beautiful like Clint, not world-weary and scarred like Phil.

He settled himself deeper on the couch and there was just enough late afternoon sun drifting through the windows to make him sleepy. He could hear Clint moving around in the kitchen, putting together something for supper and singing New York State of Mind in his rich voice. He closed his eyes and let the sound of it lull him to sleep, his mouth curving up into a smile. It was nice to have a sub around, one that seemed to genuinely want to spend time around Phil even if he could never really be Phil's.

He woke to Clint on his knees beside the couch, his fingers brushing the hair back off of Phil's forehead. “Hey, you look like you were having good dreams. Ready for supper, Sir?” He looked breathtaking, the last little bit of sun falling across one cheekbone, painting his skin gold, a teasing little smile on his face.

Phil blinked lazily, still half asleep. “Yeah.” He reached his hand up, tracing the little slash of gold-highlighted skin with his index finger. Clint's skin was warm under his touch.

Clint's breath caught and then he leaned into the touch, turning his face just enough so that the tip of Phil's finger brushed across his lips. Phil couldn't stop himself from pressing ever so lightly on Clint's full bottom lip, the one he'd been obsessing about for weeks. His own breath caught when Clint's mouth opened for him and Clint's head bent forward so he could slide Phil's finger all the way inside.

Clint's eyes fluttered closed as he sucked sweetly on Phil's finger, his cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing to the underside. He looked so beautiful, like his whole purpose was to suck Phil's finger into the wet heat of his mouth.

“Good boy,” Phil said thickly, his cock going rigid in his pants when Clint let out a little moan at the praise. Jesus. What was he doing? He was fully awake now and all he really wanted to do was pull his finger out of Clint's mouth and replace it with his dick. He pushed himself backwards, tugging his finger free of Clint's lips with a juicy pop. His breathing was ragged. “Sorry, sorry. I was half asleep – I didn't mean...”

Clint swayed on his knees his own hand coming up to slowly trace over his wet lips. His eyes looked hazy, like even that small interaction had been enough to make him start going under. And shit, it probably was, if Clint was half as inexperienced as he seemed then even the slightest provocation could be enough to make him tip over the edge into subspace. “Sir?”

Phil could hear the question in his voice but didn't know if he was asking why or why not. At this point, Clint probably didn't know what he was asking either. Phil swallowed and reached his good hand out to the bit of exposed skin between Clint's shoulder and neck. He gave him a firm squeeze there, letting the weight of his hand settle over the bare skin until Clint was looking at him, his eyes focused and a blush flaring up along his cheeks.

“Back with me?” Phil asked and drew his hand away only when Clint nodded. He pretended not to notice how Clint tried to lean into his hand to prolong contact even as Phil pulled back.

“Yes, Sir.” Clint said quietly, his eyes downcast.

“Good. Let's have dinner and then we'll talk.”

They ate in silence, Phil concentrating on the heaping bowl of homemade chicken pot pie in front of him. It was delicious, like pretty much everything Clint made and it was just another reason that this whole playing house thing they were doing wasn't going to end well. Phil couldn't afford to let himself get used to home cooked meals and an attentive sub like the one who had been stealing little glances at him all through dinner.

He looked up and met Clint's open gaze. “I need to apologize for what happened earlier, Clint. I haven't been with anyone since before I was injured and you're very attractive.”

Clint smiled at him, “I think you're very attractive too, Sir. And I'm not sorry it happened. I only wish you hadn't stopped things.” He cleared his throat. “I had a bit of a crush on you when I was a kid.” He confessed, “You were always so handsome and sure of yourself but nice too. You were kind to me.”

Phil pushed a hand back through his hair and then groaned when the motion made his shoulder spasm. “You don't know what you're saying, Clint. Look, I'm not the guy you remember from back home, okay? I've seen things, done things. When I was wounded, the sub I was with left me. We'd been together for two years, fuck, we served together, and he said he couldn't stand to look at what the shrapnel did to my chest.”

“That’s why you wouldn’t take your shirt off when I helped you get ready for the shower.”  Clint said softly.  “You didn’t want me to see your scars.”  Clint tilted his head to the side and studied him, looking old beyond his years. “We've all got scars, Sir. Some of them are just more visible than others. You know a little about my history. The circus part and foster care, but not what came before or what came between.” He pushed back from the table and unbuttoned his jeans.

“What are you -” Phil saw them then, when Clint stood and pushed his jeans down, the line of raised scars that curved over one exposed hip, marring Clint's skin.

“Cigarette burns courtesy of dear old dad,” Clint said. “One of the neighbors kept calling DCS so he learned to do it where our clothes would cover it up. And you remember when you asked me why physical therapy one day and I gave you a bullshit answer about wanting to help people.”

Phil nodded, still trying to wrap his head around the notion of a father putting out cigarettes on his child's skin.  His own father had died when Phil was ten, but what he remembered of him was trips to the zoo and ice cream and piggy-back rides.

Clint pulled his jeans back up but didn't bother fastening them. “You know what happens when a kid gets a broken leg and nobody bothers to take him to the hospital for a few weeks? I do. That's what happened to my brother Barney. By the time the ol’ man decided it wasn't going to get better on its own the bone had started healing the wrong way. They had to re-break it, put a bunch of screws in it. There was a lady at the hospital, the physical therapist. She showed us a bunch of things we could do to help him get his strength back on our own. I guess it was obvious that dad wouldn't be keeping Barney's appointments.”

Phil's chest hurt; the raw pain on Clint's face was a hundred times worse than the flying pieces of metal that caused his injury.

He got to his feet and went around the table, wrapping his good arm around Clint's shoulder and urging him back to the couch. He settled back into the corner, propping his cast along the arm and pulled Clint into his chest. “Shhh, now. It's okay.” He stroked his hand along the wispy hair at the base of Clint's neck, “You're all right now. I've got you.”

Clint wasn't crying exactly, but his face was buried up against Phil's t-shirt, his breath coming in rough little choked off gasps like he was holding back tears. He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, bodies pressed together, Phil stroking Clint's hair and back until his breathing evened out.

When Clint finally spoke, his voice was muffled against Phil's chest. “I'm not a kid. Just because I haven't dropped to my knees for every dom I've met doesn't mean I don't know what I want.” Clint tugged Phil's t-shirt down far enough to bare the skin at the top of his chest and press a kiss there. “You're the one I want to go to my knees for, Sir. And not just because of proximity. Just because I lived at home didn't mean I couldn't have found a way if I wanted it badly enough.”

Phil took a deep breath, “How about we agree to take things slow for now? Neither of us is in any shape to make any big decisions tonight anyway.”

Clint pressed another kiss against his chest and then nodded. “That's not a no, right?”

God, help him. “Not a no,” Phil agreed.

**

Clint sighed and rolled over in bed when he heard the sound of Sir’s bedroom door closing.  He knew without glancing at the clock that the other man was up too early.  Maybe it was just nerves over getting his cast removed, but Clint had a sinking feeling that the other man was trying to make an escape without coming face to face with him.

The last few weeks had been the most frustrating of Clint’s life.  For every step closer to getting to Phil to see him as someone who could be his sub, it was two steps back.  Last night when Sir had touched him, had laid one elegant finger along Clint’s cheekbone, Clint had felt like the other man was finally going to claim him. Clint had been so eager, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from offering his mouth.  He’d wanted to show him what he could do if Sir would only let him. The feel of Sir’s warm finger pressing against his mouth, sliding between his lips, had started Clint on that sweet slide downward to something that remained just out of reach.

Sir’s husky “Good boy” had made Clint want to splay himself open, to bare everything for just a few more words of praise.

It had gone to shit then, and Clint still wasn’t sure quite why. Sir had talked about his asshole ex and his battle wounds and Clint had countered with his own fucked up version of show and tell.  It was like ripping out stitches on skin that wasn’t quite healed and Clint had ended up huddled in Sir’s arms on the couch.

Clint still wasn’t sure why it meant that they couldn’t be together.

In the wee hours they’d climbed the stairs to the second floor and for one brief moment Clint had held out hope that the other man was going to take him to bed.  He’d been close to begging, even if it just meant he could sleep at Sir’s feet.  Phil had just shaken his head and sent Clint to his own room with a kiss on the forehead.

Like he was a child.

Clint was most definitely not a child.

It was time that Sir realized that.

With a sigh of frustration Clint sat up in bed,  Phil’s cast was coming off today.  Clint had plans to make.

**

It wasn't that Phil was trying to avoid Clint the next day, at least that's what he told himself when he left for his doctor's appointment a good two hours ahead of schedule. The house was still quiet when Phil climbed into his car and he knew Clint was wrung out from the emotional upheaval of the night before. Phil was just being extra quiet so Clint could sleep in. They'd stayed up too late, snuggled together on the couch. There hadn't been much talking, just long comfortable silences.

In some ways it had been more intimate than sex. More dangerous than sex. Holding Clint Barton in his arms, comforting him, had brought out all of Phil's dom instincts.

He glanced at his watch as he weaved his way through traffic. He had plenty of time to kill. He stopped at a coffee shop close to the hospital and snagged a muffin and a to-go cup of coffee that he took outside. Early September in D.C. meant that the mornings were cool but not cold and he was comfortable in his tshirt and track pants on a bench in the park beside the hospital grounds.

He finished his muffin and then pulled his phone out. He needed some advice.

Five minutes later he was starting to regret his decision.

“So let me get this straight,” Nick sounded way too amused by the whole conversation. “You're calling me at work at half past ass o'clock in the morning in a panic because you have a beautiful young sub at your beck and call asking you to pop his cherry.” Nick made a tsking sound. “You sure it's not your head that got jacked up by that IED instead of your chest? This does not sound like a problem, Cheese. Hell, that sounds like the plot of a pretty good porno.”

Phil drained the rest of his coffee. Why had he thought this was a good idea? “You don't think I'd be taking advantage?”

The teasing tone left Nick's voice. “Shit, sounds like you'd be doing the kid a favor. You know how many asshole doms are in this city? At least you'd be careful with him. Show him the ropes, how to negotiate, how to play safe. Might be good for both of you. Get you back in the swing of things and get your boy a little experience before you turn him loose on the cruel world and he gets on his knees for the wrong person.”

Phil hesitated, maybe Nick had a point. If he approached it the right way, maybe he could make it work.

“Or hey,” Nick continued. “Describe him to me again. Spare no detail. Especially that bit about his lips. I mean, if you can't bear to help the kid out maybe I should drop by and offer my services.”

Phil knew Nick was joking but the hot stab of jealousy flared too quick for him to bite back his angry, “Fuck you.” He'd had an image of Nick's dark hands moving over Clint's golden skin and it made something twist in the pit of his belly. He hung up the phone on Nick's laughter.

It was time for his appointment anyway.

He needed to think, to wrap his head around the idea of actually trying to pursue something with Clint.

He walked slowly toward the hospital, mind spinning with possibilities.  He had a lot of planning to do.

**

Clint glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall and then checked the stove again.  Everything was ready and waiting.  Had been ready and waiting for over an hour. It was quarter past eight.  They usually ate supper promptly at seven unless they’d made arrangements otherwise beforehand.  

Phil should have been home hours ago.  Even if something went wrong at the doctor’s office, especially if something went wrong at the doctor’s office, he should have been home by now.  Clint had picked up his cell phone to call or text half a dozen times but set it back down without doing either. Other than a few texts from Bucky, a sub he'd met on campus, his phone had been dead quiet.

He wasn’t Sir’s - Phil, he was going to have to start calling him Phil  if he was ever going to get past this stupid infatuation - he wasn’t Phil’s sub.  

Phil was making it abundantly clear where Clint ranked by this little display of thoughtlessness.

“Fuck it,” Clint muttered and popped the top off another bottle of beer.  It was his third, fourth?  

He was such a goddamn idiot.  

He should have listened when Phil tried to let him down gently last night.  Instead he’d made a fool of himself, told Phil all about his own damage.  “Because that always makes you irresistible, a sub with no experience and a history of abuse.”

Clint had spent the whole day trying to make things perfect, trying to show Sir, Phil, how good it could be.  He’d made a beautiful meal, gotten a nice bottle of wine, taken a long bath and scrubbed every inch of himself.  He’d dressed with care in a his nicest pair of jeans and a dark blue dress shirt.  He’d even written out a list of reasons why Phil should take him on.

He’d been prepared for Phil’s reluctance.  He’d been sure he could persuade him.

He hadn’t been prepared for this.

Phil’s failure to come home seemed unnecessarily cruel after Clint had spent a good portion of the night before snuggled up in his arms.

His phone gave a little ding, signalling the arrival of a new message.  

Clint grabbed for it, tossing it back down when he realized it was just Bucky again. He and a group of other new students were going out to a local club, a combination get to know you/party it up before they had to buckle down and get serious with classes starting on Monday.  Clint started to tell him he wasn't interested then thought better of it.  

He picked his phone up and keyed in a response.  Maybe that was the whole problem, his lack of experience.  Maybe he should just meet up with Bucky and whoever else at the bar and see if he could find some dom who did want to spend some quality time with him. Somebody who thought Clint deserved a little attention.

His phone beeped again with another incoming message.  

**

Phil had gotten out of his doctor’s appointment and gone straight to his usual physical therapy and rehab sessions.  After a shower at the gym, he’d done a little shopping.

Well, quite a lot of shopping.

His first stop had been to get a haircut and shave followed by a trip to an upscale  department store to update his wardrobe.  He'd been living in sweats and tshirts with his injury, and uniforms before that.  He'd needed a whole new look to start off at SHIELD.  

He'd ordered three suits along with half a dozen shirts and ties.  The suits were off the rack, but the store had someone on site who could alter them to fit.  He'd be able to pick them up in a few days.  He'd picked out a couple of pairs of jeans and some casual shirts as well.  He'd worn a pair of the jeans and a fitted black sweater out of the store, ready to be rid of the sweats once and for all. He’d also maybe wanted to show Clint what he looked like in something that really fit his body.  He’d worked hard to rebuild and maintain his strength and physique post-injury, determined not to get soft.

He’d spent the last several hours criss-crossing D.C. replacing all of his other more personal  supplies.  He hadn’t kept anything when Grant left.  He’d thrown everything out.  Since Clint was a blank slate that meant Phil needed a little bit (maybe a lot bit) just to get started.  He wanted to be the one to introduce Clint to every earthly pleasure to be had.  He wanted to learn every limit that Clint had and part of the fun would be watching Clint discover those limits for himself along the way.

Phil had been very grateful for all those months of combat pay that had been slowly accumulating interest in his bank account the last few years otherwise his next credit card bill might lead to a coronary incident.

It was almost nine by the time Phil let himself in the front door.  He was nervous, felt like a damn school boy.  He set the bags he was carrying down on the landing to the stairs and called out for Clint, a little surprised when he didn’t get an answer.

He walked through the downstairs, stopping short when he noticed the nicely laid out table complete with flowers and wine.  There was food on the stove, although it had long ago gone cold.  

Shit, he’d been so damn wrapped up in his planning that he’d never even stopped to think that Clint might be making plans of his own.  Once he’d made the decision to at least try, at least see if he could help Clint figure out what it was he should be looking for in a relationship, in a dom, Phil had been full steam ahead.

He  frowned when he counted the empty beer bottles lined up neatly along the kitchen bar.  In the few weeks Clint had been here, Phil hadn’t known him to drink more than one beer. If he was four in, maybe he was sleeping it off.

He retreated back through the main part of the house and made his way upstairs.  Clint’s door was wide open, bed still neatly made and most definitely empty.  Phil looked across the hall into his own bedroom just in case, but it was Clint-less as well.

He’d seen Clint’s bike when he pulled up, so he’d either gone on foot or caught a ride somewhere.

Where the hell could he have gone, obviously upset and after too much to drink?  

Phil reached for his phone.

Why the hell hadn’t Phil thought to call or text to let Clint know that he was going to be late?  He balled his hands into fists, wincing a little when it made his newly cast-less hand twinge with pain. He knew the answer, he hadn’t called or texted because since Grant left there hadn’t been anybody waiting at home to get a call or text from Phil.  Phil was letting Grant’s memory poison this thing with Clint before it ever got started.

Well, not anymore goddamnit!  

For the first time in months, Phil felt like his old self.  Like the person he’d been before the IED changed everything.  He wanted Clint, Clint wanted him.  He was going to fix the mess he made and then he was going to take his time teaching Clint just exactly what it meant to be a sub.  

To be Phil’s sub.

After about the tenth try, somebody finally answered the phone.  It wasn't Clint.

"Clint's phone." A strange voice said.

Phil frowned.  "Who is this?"  He could hear the sound of a bar in the background, loud music, laughter.

"This is Bucky."

Bucky.  Phil had a vague recollection of Clint mentioning that name.

"Bucky, this is Phil.  Clint's..."  What was he, exactly?  Nothing.  "Where's Clint?"

"Oh man, he is pissed at you.”  Bucky laughed.  “I thought he was either going to cry or slash your tires. He’s having a really good time right now, I don’t know why I should let you talk to him.  He’s just starting to feel a little better. That was a fucked up thing to do just leave him hanging like that.”

Phil winced, “Could you just put him on the phone, please?  I know I fucked up, all right. I want to apologize.  Make it better.”  He put a little dom authority in his voice, dropped it down low.  “You want me to make it better don’t you, Bucky? Take Clint home and make it all better for him?”

There was a long pause and then Bucky’s voice, a little quieter.  “Well, shit.  You really are that guy aren’t you.  You’ve been doing this whole look but don’t touch thing for his own good.  I’m starting to see why Clint’s so hung up on you.  Hold on a minute.  He’s dancing right now."  

Dancing?  Something low and hot sliced through Phil’s belly.  With some other dom?  Did some other dom have their hands all over Clint?

Phil heard a clatter and then Bucky came back on the line.  "He says to tell you to fuck off."  His voice dropped to a whisper.  "But he's pretty drunk and he's, uh, getting a lot of attention. You might want to come get him."

Shit. "Tell me where you are."

Phil grabbed his keys and headed out the door while Bucky rattled off the address.

**

Clint's head was spinning, his stomach churning.  The bar was too crowded, hot.  The beer he'd had at home plus the shots he'd thrown back when he got to the bar were not sitting well on his otherwise empty stomach.

He'd lost sight of Bucky and the others, Steve and that sweet faced English girl (Jemma? Emma?) for a while. Steve and Bucky had been arguing about something, and then kissing, and then arguing some more.

The girl had been worried about Clint.

Clint had assured her he was plenty able to take care of himself.  Then he'd poured out his whole pitiful broken hearted story to her.

He'd danced with her and then with her shy Scottish friend until his huge boyfriend Mack (and that was fitting because he was built like a Mack truck) had taken Fitz by the hand and led him away.  Clint had just left the dance floor and was headed back to the table when Bucky shouted that Phil was on the phone.

"Tell him to fuck off!" Clint shouted back.

"What a tragedy for him," a silky English voice said right in his ear.  "But quite a pleasant turn of events for me. How about you stay and share a dance?"  

The voice belonged to a handsome dom a good six inches taller than Clint with dark hair and green eyes.  The guy was holding his arm out to Clint. He was dressed all in black from the silk shirt that flowed over his lean torso, half unbuttoned to show a vee of pale skin, to the jeans that clung to his long legs.

He looked exactly like the kind of guy that Phil would have told him to stay away from, somebody who would use Clint up and toss him aside.

Clint licked his lips, fuck it. Phil had already tossed him aside. He put his hand on the guy's arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin silk shirt. "Sure. Um, lead the way.”

The guy settled his hand over Clint's, pressing it between his palm and his arm. “Marvelous. I'm Loki.” He gave Clint a smile that was full of teeth. “What's your name, gorgeous?”

Clint didn't know if it was the way the guy was looking at him with such obvious intent or the alcohol or both, but his stomach was knotting up. Something didn't feel right with this guy. “Clint.” He made to pull his hand away. “So, we gonna dance or what? Because my friends are waiting for me at the table back there.”

Loki grabbed his hand before he could pull fully away and gave him a harsh tug back toward the crowded dance floor. “Dance first, ‘Or what’ later. Come along now, like a good boy.”

The words, so much like Sir's “good boy” of the night before made a shiver run through Clint's body. He wanted that feeling again, that feeling that he was teetering on the edge of some great abyss just waiting for a warm hand to safely guide him over into the unknown. If Sir couldn't, no, wouldn't do that for Clint, maybe Loki would.

Clint followed where Loki led.

**

It was closing in on eleven when Phil pushed his way through the crowd at the door. By the time he'd driven to the trendy H Street neighborhood and managed to find a place to park, the feeling of apprehension that had bloomed when he'd walked into an empty house had grown into something fierce and dark.

He'd tried Clint's cell again on the drive over but it had gone straight to voicemail. What if he got there too late? What if Clint had left with somebody? What is something had happened? What if Phil had fucked it up so bad that...

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself, as his eyes scanned the bar. It was packed to capacity with young twenty and thirty somethings on a Friday night. He made a slow study of the room, turning a full three sixty.

No Clint.

There were two more large rooms, one on either side. The thumping music coming from the one on the right indicated that was the dance floor. The one on the left looked to be more secluded tables and booths. Places where couples could go to get to know each other a little better away from the crowd and the music.

Phil started toward the dance floor; Bucky had said Clint was dancing.

“Excuse me, you're Phil aren't you?” A pretty young English woman was looking at him with serious eyes. “Clint showed me your picture on his phone.” She blushed. “You're very dashing.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I'm Jemma, by the way. I'm going to be in the same class as Clint, you see. Well, when classes start officially on Monday--”

“Where's Clint, Jemma?” Phil said, trying very hard to be patient.

Jemma started babbling. “That man is trying to get him to leave with him. That other dom. Bucky and Steve are in there now trying to stall them but he’s being very persuasive and Clint has had well, quite a lot to drink. And really, you mustn't be angry at him. Bucky was afraid to tell him you were coming in case that made him want to leave even more.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, clearly horrified at what she'd just said.

“Take me to him.” Phil ordered.

“Yes, sir.” Jemma squeaked. She turned and weaved her way through the crowd into the room on the left with the secluded tables and booths.

The lighting was soft and dim, but Phil spotted Clint right away.

He was sitting in one of the large circular booths at the very back of the room, half slumped against the man Phil was about to beat to death. The man who had one arm draped around Clint's neck, his pale hand disappearing inside Clint's open shirt collar. Clint's eyes were heavy lidded, almost closed, his head tilted to one side. The man’s long fingers were skimming over the skin of Clint’s throat, dipping below his shirt to play along his collarbone.

“And that's the real difference between a crocodile and an alligator.” A well-muscled young man with short blonde hair was saying earnestly. He was standing at one side of the booth, blocking the exit.  A dom, Phil thought, but one who wasn't quite comfortable with his dynamic yet.  A slender dark haired young man was at the other side of the booth, similarly positioned.  Definitely a sub.

The dead man with his arm around Clint rolled his eyes, “Yes, fascinating.  Steve, was it? All of your animal trivia has been fascinating. But, I'm quite tired of hearing it. Run along now, children. I'm just going to take your friend home for a little playtime.”

Phil closed the short distance to the booth, coming to a stop directly across the table. He leaned forward to gently lay his palms on the surface. “I think you'll find that their ‘little friend’ is under my protection. The only way he's going to leave here tonight is with me. You on the other hand, have options. You can take your hands very carefully off of him and leave on your own two feet. Or,” Phil smiled, “and I have to tell you, this is my preference.” His voice was full of barely suppressed rage. “I can spend the next few minutes giving you a little lesson in all the ways an Army Ranger learns to hurt a man. There are a plethora of them and it would give me a lot of pleasure to make you intimately acquainted with each and every one. Of course, that would mean you'd leave here in an ambulance.”

Clint tried to straighten up, his eyes opening slowly at the sound of Phil’s voice.  “Sir…” it came out slurred.

The man pulled Clint back to him, arching an eyebrow at Phil.  “How very barbaric of you.  I take it you were the one he rather eloquently told to fuck off.”  He gave Clint’s shoulder a proprietary squeeze.  “Obviously you weren’t employing any of those methods with sweet little Clint here.  He’s crying out for some attention.”  He slid his hand up to Clint’s neck and bore down.  “I relish the opportunity to give him what he deserves.”

Phil wasn’t sure if it was the man’s hand closing down on Clint’s throat or the little whimper of distress Clint made, but he had the man halfway across the table, his fist smashing into that pale face with a satisfyingly thud before they were pulled apart.  He wanted to see the bastard’s blood on his fists.  Hell, Phil wanted to rip the man’s throat open with his teeth for daring to lay a hand on Clint.

The two young men that were blocking the booth now had Phil by either arm, dragging him back.  "Hey, hey!"  The dark haired one was saying.  "This isn't helping things. Can't you see you're giving that douche just what he wants?"

Phil recognized Bucky's voice from the phone.  He shook his arm loose from his grasp and turned back to the table.  Clint was huddled in the far side of the booth, his face gone pale.  He was shivering, eyes wide open now.  Jemma had slipped past Bucky and his friend and was at Clint’s side, trying to soothe him.

The guy, the one who'd had his hands all over Clint, was carefully wiping a bit of blood away from his battered nose.  He had his mouth to Clint's ear, opposite of Jemma, murmuring something.

Phil felt the rage build again.  It must've shown on his face.

"Shit," the blonde guy, Steve, who'd been holding Phil's other arm said.  "Jemma, go find Mack.  We need reinforcements."  

She scrambled out of the booth and took off without a word.

"See there, you don't really want to trust yourself with someone so out of control."  The cool English voice said mockingly to Clint.  "Why, imagine if he lost control with you?"

Fuck. Phil thought about Clint's stories, the ones about his father.

He swallowed down the growl rising in his throat.  Clint was watching him with wide, confused eyes.  Looking for direction.  Even now, looking to Phil for guidance.

The anger, anger Phil had been carting around for months, not just anger about here and now but anger about Afghanistan and Grant and his life being altered in a million uncontrollable ways, suddenly seemed to dissolve in the face of Clint’s trusting expression.

Phil’s past was gone, the direction of his life, one that he intended to have with Clint, spun out before him.

He took a breath and then another one.  His fists uncurled.  He took a few steps toward the side of the booth Jemma had vacated and held his right hand out, palm up towards Clint.

"Come home with me now."  Phil's voice was calm now, steady.  "You're in no shape for any sort of scene tonight, with me or anyone else."  

He held Clint's gaze, let his voice drop lower, let the dominance bleed through.  "Tomorrow I'll start your training.  Step by step, I'll show you everything.  I'll help you learn your limits. Not what you think your limits are, but your actual limits.  I'll make you cry, and beg and scream.  I'll bend you to my will and when you think you can't take any more, I'll push you a little further.  I’ll give you everything, I’ll make you my everything, I’ll become your everything.  And once I do, you’ll be mine to keep."

Somebody behind him let out a breathy little, "Oh, Jesus."

Phil's attention didn't waver from Clint.  "I'll teach you to serve and to submit and to turn yourself completely over to my desires. You'll learn to fly and float from the rush of endorphins.  The pain will be sweetest thing you've ever known.  I'll take all you have and give it back until you're filled to the brim and overflowing."

He fell silent then, watching as Clint weighed his words.  

Clint licked his lips, "Everything?  No holding back?"

Phil nodded.  "Everything."

Slowly, with flushed cheeks and trembling fingers, Clint reached out and placed his hand in Phil's.  "Take me home, Sir."

Phil helped him carefully to his feet, sliding his arm along his back.  Clint put his face in the crook of Phil's neck, curling his fingers in the fabric of his sweater.

"Thank Christ, Clint" and it was definitely Bucky talking.  "If you didn't go home with him, I was about to."

"Hey!"  Steve said indignantly.  "You're going to pay for that when we get home."

Phil smiled into Clint's hair, maybe Steve was more comfortable with his dynamic than he appeared.

**

Nothing seemed quite real to Clint.

He had his eyes closed, his head laid back against the seat of the car.  The motion of the car was soothing to his jangled nerves, his racing mind, his unsettled belly.

Had Sir really shown up and fought for him, promised him the world and whisked him away?  The warmth of Phil's body pressed against his side, his arm draped along his back as they walked to the car, did that happen?  The car ride back to the brownstone with Sir's hand resting high up on Clint's thigh, giving him gentle squeezes - did Clint imagine it all?

"Hey, you with me?"  The hand gave another lingering squeeze as the car pulled to a stop.  "We're home."

Clint opened his eyes.  Phil was leaning over the console, his blue eyes filled with concern.  Clint blinked back the sudden sting of tears and reached out to lay his hand over Phil's.  What the fuck was wrong with him? "Yeah, I'm with you."

Sir smiled at him, "Let's get inside.  Get you cleaned up.  Maybe a little food in your stomach.  I'm going to take care of you."

The words soothed Clint, made it easy for him to sit back in the seat until Phil came around and opened his car door.  He let himself be led back into the house he'd stormed out of hours before. He still couldn’t believe he’d almost gone home with that guy from the club.  He felt like a fool, like a kid.

Jesus, what a roller coaster the day had been.

Clint stopped short in the entryway, eyes going to the heaps of bags piled on the stairway landing.  "What's all this?"

Phil rubbed a hand along Clint's back.  "That's the reason I missed dinner.  I was doing a little shopping."

Clint cocked his head to the side.  "What kind of shopping?"

Phil's mouth twisted up at the corners.  Not quite a smile.  "The best kind of shopping.  The kind a Dom does when they have a beautiful new sub waiting at home."

Clint dropped his head down, embarrassed.  "You mean the whole time I thought you were rejecting me you were out buying toys and stuff?  God, I'm such a dumbass."

"Hey," Phil slid his hand up to the back of Clint's neck.  "Don't say that. You didn't know and I didn't call and we're not going to waste one more minute talking about it."  He gave Clint's neck a gentle squeeze. Sir’s hand there felt right, the heavy weight of it reassuring and calming in contrast to how Loki’s had felt.  "Why don't you go up and take a shower and I'll fix us something to eat."

Clint shook his head.  "I don't know if I can eat right now."

"You can and you will."  Phil said against his ear.  "It'll help you not feel so bad tomorrow."  He let his hand skim from Clint's neck down his back to the curve of his ass.  "I expect you to be your best for me tomorrow when we start your training."

Clint let out a little moan and pushed back against the warm hand.  "You don't have to wait.  We could get started tonight, Sir."

Phil laughed and gave him a little swat.  "Tomorrow.  Now go on up and get ready for me."

Fifteen minutes later Clint emerged from the bathroom freshly scrubbed and showered.  He’d forced himself to drink a couple of glasses of water when he brushed his teeth and the dizzy feeling was starting to abate. He paused in the hallway with a towel around his hips and glanced uncertainly at the two bedroom doors.

“My bed from now on, unless you’re being punished.”  Phil said from the top of the stairs.  “And even then you’ll still be in my room.”  He was carrying a tray with a couple of sandwiches and a small bottle of gatorade.  “But, since we’re not officially beginning your training until tomorrow, I’ll allow you one last night on your own if you want it.”  

Clint flushed, he could think of nothing he wanted less than to spend another night with a wall separating him from Sir.  “No, I’d like to stay with you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”  Phil gave Clint a smile that made a shiver run through him.

“I’ll just get some clothes to sleep in,” Clint said, starting toward his room.

“No clothes.  I want you naked when you’re in my bed.”

And Jesus, even though Clint was physically and mentally exhausted, those words made his cock twitch.  He stopped short, turned back to face Sir, and nodded. “Okay.”  He reached down and pulled the towel free from his hips, tossing it into the hamper through the open bathroom door.  He gave his own little smile when he heard Phil’s intake of breath.

There was a rattle and thump as Phil set the tray down on the hall table and then stepped up until his fully clothed body was inches from Clint’s naked one. He reached a hand out and caught Clint’s chin, turning his head so they were eye to eye.  His other hand wrapped around Clint’s back and drew him in, pressed their bodies together  so that Clint’s hard cock pressed against the rough fabric of his jeans.

Finally, Clint thought, finally.  

And then Sir was kissing him.

His mouth moved over Clint’s with practiced ease, his lips knowing just the right amount of pressure to apply so that it was that exquisite mix of pleasure just bordering on pain when he sucked and bit and licked his way inside Clint’s mouth.  His tongue dipped inside and then drew back until Clint was chasing it, wanting more.  Clint wanted everything.  Sir was going to give him everything.  Teach him everything.  His hands came up to clutch at Phil’s biceps through the soft cotton of his sweater.  He wanted to feel his skin.

With a groan, Phil pulled his head back and broke the kiss.  “The things I’m going to do to you,” he said, pressing his mouth against the crook of Clint’s neck for one quick swipe of his tongue.  “You have no idea.”  He ran his hands along Clint’s back, over the curve of his bare ass.  He bit down on the bit of skin at the top of Clint’s shoulder. “But not until tomorrow.”  

He dropped his hands and stepped back.  

Clint bit down hard on his bottom lip to keep from crying out in frustration.  He knew Sir was right.  He knew he was too tired, too drained, not enough food and too much alcohol taking its toll.  But he was also naked and hard and horny.

Even as he dutifully followed Phil into his room, their room, and ate and drank as instructed, Clint couldn’t stop thinking about Sir’s kiss.  Sir’s hands on his body.  Sir’s promises.  Even when Sir pulled back the covers on the big king sized bed and ordered Clint to climb in while he took his own shower, Clint couldn’t stop thinking about it.  He was Phil’s now.  He belonged to him.  He was his sub.

He didn’t know how he’d ever sleep.

**

Clint was beautiful in his sleep, the little worry lines on his forehead smoothed out and his face open and relaxed.

Phil had come back from his shower expecting Clint to still be keyed up and awake, but instead he’d found the young sub sprawled out on his back with the comforter pushed down to below his belly button.

Jesus, Phil thought.  What did I do to deserve this?  He switched off the lamp and crawled naked into bed beside Clint, drawing him in close.  He didn’t think he’d sleep, at least not right away, but the feeling of the warm sub in his arms pulled him under in minutes.

He woke up to find Clint curled up against his chest, his head resting on Phil’s breastbone.  One arm was slung over Phil’s waist, one knee resting precariously close to Phil’s stiff cock.  

It was a wonderful way to wake up.  

He turned his head to glance at the clock and then slowly eased himself out of bed. It was still early.  He wanted to let Clint sleep in a little while.

 

**

Clint opened his eyes with a start and blinked, looking around for a moment in confusion.

He was in Sir’s room, in Sir’s bed.  Only somehow he’d slept through it all.  Some fine sub he was.

He pushed the covers back and climbed out of bed, pausing for a minute when he remembered he was naked.  Was he supposed to stay naked all the time?  

Clint imagined himself going about his daily chores in nothing but a smile, his body completely available for Sir’s every caress.  He shivered.  That would be really hot.  But, also really impractical considering the frigidness of D.C. winters.  

He grinned at his own silliness and headed to his room to pull on a pair of sweats and a tshirt.   He stopped off at the bathroom and then made his way downstairs.

Sir was at the stove, cooking something that made Clint’s mouth water.  He was dressed in last night’s jeans and a snug tshirt.  He smiled when he spied Clint and waved him toward the bar.  “Take a seat.  I’ll have this ready in a minute.”

Clint did as he was told, feeling shy suddenly.  He was usually the one to do the cooking.  In a moment, Phil slid a plate in front of him piled high with eggs, bacon and toast.   

“Eat up.”  Phil said, and then poured them both a glass of milk before making his own plate.  “I’m not much of a cook, but breakfast I can do.”

“It’s good,”  Clint said, as he worked steadily to clear his plate.  “I woke up hungry.”  He kept his eyes on his food.

“You should eat it all, you’ll need your energy for later.”  Sir said.  He leaned in and laid a hand on Clint’s knee.  “I’d like to take a couple of hours and get things ready and then have you join me.”

Clint shifted closer, wanting to feel the warmth of Phil’s hand on his skin.  This man drew him like a magnet.  “Is there anything I should do?”  

Sir gave his knee a squeeze and leaned in for a quick kiss.  “Hydrate, shower and spend some time thinking about anything you think is an absolute no for you.”  His blue eyes were intense.  “This is not some quick fuck, Clint.  It’s going to be a slow, very thorough process to get you where I want you to be.  I’m going to enjoy every second of taking you there.”

Clint whined low in his throat.  The way Phil went from lovable nice guy to authoritative master in the blink of an eye made his dick ache.  He felt like he’d been a walking erection since he’d showed up on Phil Coulson’s door step.  “I swear, I’m gonna die if I don’t come soon, Sir”

Sir’s hand slid from Clint’s knee to his cock.  He palmed it through the material of Clint’s sweat pants.  “This is mine now.  You’ll touch it to wash and to use the bathroom or when I tell you to.”  He thumbed the head, wrapped his fingers around the length of it just enough to give it a squeeze.  “Good boys get to come, Clint.  Are you going to be good for me?”

Clint let out another whine, trying and failing to resist the urge to buck up into Sir’s hand.  “Yes, Sir.  I’ll be good.”

Sir gave him another squeeze and then pulled his hand away.  “Two hours, Clint.  Then come up to the third floor.”

**

 

He climbed the stairs to the third floor slowly.  Beyond a cursory inspection when he first moved in, he’d never spent any time up here.  Part of the loft space was used as a makeshift exercise room complete with free weights and a treadmill.  There was a hallway that divided another section into an office and then another room beyond that used for storage.  

 

Sir was nowhere to be seen.

 

Were they going to work out?  Clint had been using the gym at the student center and Phil’s workouts were still supervised by his rehab team.

 

“In here,” Sir called out.  His voice was coming from the storage room on the other side of the office.

 

Clint walked across the room and stuck his head through the open doorway.  “Oh,” he exclaimed softly.  “Oh, I didn’t realize.”  Sir was standing in the middle of a beautiful sun-drenched playroom.

 

“It’s pretty great, isn’t it?”  Phil said.  He’d cleared the boxes out and pulled the heavy curtains back.  The windows along one wall looked out over the city.  Summer was gone; the trees were in their full autumn glory.

The floor was the same dark hardwood found throughout the rest of the house but there was a plush rug in a pattern of jewel tones over much of it.  Coordinating pillows, some just the right size to kneel on as well as other larger ones were scattered through the room. An ornate  St. Andrews cross made of gleaming wood with worn but soft looking leather cuffs dominated one corner.  There was a large cabinet made of the same wood in the other corner with two large doors that opened outward to reveal drawers and shelves full of toys.  A padded bench, stool and a low bed completed the furniture.  

“It’s beautiful.”  Clint murmured.  “All this was up here the whole time?”  

Phil smirked.  “Well, the toys are new, I picked those myself. The room  was here.  Aunt Peggy, well, let’s just say that Aunt Peggy liked to do everything with style.  This was her version of a ‘you’re alive and dammit you’re going to enjoy yourself gift.’  She had the whole room done up while I was still in the hospital.  But I...I didn’t think I would get a chance to use it.”  He rubbed a hand across his chin.  “I wasn’t exactly counting on you. I had the movers stick a bunch of my old boxes up here when I moved in.”

Clint blushed, he twisted his hands together nervously.  “Thank you, Peggy Carter. And, I'm really glad you were wrong about not getting a chance to use it.”

Phil nodded.  “Yes, I’m going to have to get Aunt Peggy something extra special for Christmas this year.”  He held out a hand to Clint.  “Are you ready to get started?”

Clint swallowed.  Somehow he’d expected something dark and seedy and hidden, things that went on at the witching hour.  Not this warm room with golden early afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows.  His cheeks burned.  “Shouldn’t we close the curtains?”

Phil’s voice dropped into that tone, that “Sir” range.  “Not a chance. I want to see every inch of you. No hiding in the shadows.” He gave Clint a long look, one that made something flare way down in Clint's belly. “No hiding for me either.” Sir licked his lips and then pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side. He was wearing a pair of low slung jeans and nothing else, the scars on his chest and upper arm exposed.

Clint didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. His shoulders were broad, his chest covered with a mat of curly dark hair, his arms lean and whipcord strong. Sure, the scar on Sir's chest was brutal but it was also beautiful. A reminder of what Phil had survived. It was directly over his heart, a couple of jagged slashes faded mostly to pink but still traces of red in a couple of spots. There were other smaller scars along his left shoulder and arm.

“I think you're perfect. I want it all, Sir.” Clint's voice was thick with emotion. He went to his knees, bowing his head. “I want to serve you.”

There was a long pause, and then Sir's voice. “Then come here, like a good boy.”

Clint dropped forward on his hands and crawled to him.

**

His boy was so beautiful, Phil thought as he watched him crawl across the playroom to come kneel before him.  His blue green eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed pink, he was chewing on that plush bottom lip that had been front and center of Phil’s fantasies for the last month.

Clint stopped a foot in front of him and stared at him, waiting.

“Stand up and let me look at you.” Phil commanded, watching as Clint gracefully got to his feet.

Phil reached out both hands and grabbed the hem of Clint’s tshirt and dragged it slowly up his body. It was a slow reveal of golden skin, a body made to be touched and tormented. His narrow waist broadened out to defined abs and a well-muscled chest tipped with small nipples. His shoulders and arms, God, those arms were a work of art. Years of honing his archery skills had left every muscle defined.  

Phil pulled the shirt over Clint's head and dropped it to the floor.

“What should I do, Sir?” Clint asked. “I don't...I want...”

“Shhh.” Phil said, taking a moment to run both hands over Clint's shoulders. He could feel him quivering a little at the touch. “All you have to do is submit for me. I'll lead you where you need to go.  I asked you before  if there was anything that was an absolute no for you.”

Clint started to shake his head and then stopped, “I, I don’t want to be humiliated.  I’m not ashamed of being a submissive.  I’ll try anything else.”  He held his head up, looked Phil in the eyes.

Phil gave Clint’s shoulders a squeeze.  “You’re amazing. Your submission is a gift, a privilege you’re granting me.  It’s nothing to be ashamed of, I’m beyond lucky to have you here.”  Phil let his hands drift down to slide across the tight little buds of Clint's nipples, just a ghosting touch. “Today I just want to see how responsive you are. See how long it takes for you to go down.” He pressed the blunt end of thumbnail into one nipple and smiled at the way Clint let out a surprised little gasp.

Phil's hands settled over the waistband of Clint's sweat pants and he bent to pull them down in one smooth motion. He tapped first one foot and then the other, and Clint raised each foot enough for Phil to slide the pants free. Clint was looking down at him with those questioning eyes. He was watching every move Phil made, anticipating, trying to guess what was happening next.

Phil bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his smile, that would never work. Clint was already over-thinking it. His sub was trying to anticipate Phil's needs instead of giving himself over to Phil's command.

Clint's cock was hard, leaking already. Standing straight out from his body like an offering. His hands were at his side, clenched into loose fists as he fought to stand still.

Phil's good boy, so eager to please.

Phil stood slowly back up, running his hands along the length of Clint's legs along the way. “I don't want to blindfold you, but I'd like you to close your eyes.”

“Yes, Sir.” Clint said obediently, his long eyelashes fluttering as he closed his eyes.

“So good, for me.” Phil said. He flicked his tongue across Clint's bottom lip teasingly and then pulled away when Clint opened his mouth. A quick kiss to the collarbone, a nip to the smooth underside of Clint's jaw. He bent his head to suck one little nipple into his mouth, catching it between his teeth and laving it with his tongue.

Clint made a bitten off sound and leaned ever so slightly forward. Phil immediately moved away.

“Today you can make any sound you want to, but no moving without permission except to nod or shake your head. I want you to stay still for me. You will do that for me. You will be my good boy.” Phil used his dom voice. Watched the look of frustration appear and then dissolve away on Clint's face.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good boy.” Phil stepped close again, pressing a kiss to each of Clint's cheeks and easing around behind him. He put his mouth against Clint's ear. “You look so beautiful in the sunlight. You skin was made for the sun.”

He rested one hand on Clint's hip. He paused to let his fingers trace over each of the raised burned scars that curved along Clint's skin and then stroked down over the jut of his hip bone to the dark blonde hair that led down to his cock. He rested his long fingers there, just barely letting the tips brush against the base of Clint's cock in tiny little strokes. Phil stepped close enough that he was pressed up against Clint's bare ass, his cock pressing through his jeans. He reached around with his other hand and wrapped his hand around Clint's dick.

Clint gasped out, “Sir,” his dick jumping against Phil's hand. Phil could feel the tension as Clint fought not to thrust forward, fought to follow Phil's order to stay still. After a long moment, Clint's body relaxed back.

“So good, Clint.” Phil squeezed his cock, used his other hand to press against Clint's pubic bone and push him back into the cradle of Phil's hips. “Your cock is so pretty, feels so nice in my hand. I'm going to love putting your pretty cock to work. We'll see how long we can keep it hard, how many times we can make it come, put a nice thick cock ring around it.” Phil gave him a few soft strokes. “I'll have you show me how you like to touch it, and then I'll show you how I like to touch it. I might see how long you can keep from getting hard with my mouth on you.”

“Jesus fuck!” Clint cried out, a spurt of precome dribbling out the end.

Phil laughed, low and filthy. “Sir will do.” He pressed his thumb to the head, sliding through the wetness and tightening down until Clint cried out again. “Don't even think about coming, untrained or not, that would make me very unhappy.”

Clint nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

Phil dropped his hand down to Clint's balls, cupped them in his palm, rolled them between his fingers. “I'm going to take you down. I'll do it slow this time to see how you react. It's been a long time for me and forever for you so everything is going to be slow. Do you understand?” He squeezed Clint's balls until the pain made him hiss and nod.

“I'm not going to fuck you today.” He ground his dick against Clint's ass through his jeans, his fingers stroking Clint's balls again. “We'll have to work up to that. Have you had anything inside you?”

“No,” Clint whined, panting. “Just my fingers. I wanted to wait for my, until I...”

“Good boy,” Phil said. He'd suspected as much. He'd known Clint was inexperienced but this was going to be even sweeter. It was going to be a torment for them both to get to that point where Clint could take Phil's large cock but it would be worth it. He gave Clint's balls one more caress and the released him and took a step back.

He circled around him. “You can open your eyes.”

Clint looked halfway down already. His pupils were huge, his skin flushed.

Phil leaned in and brushed a kiss across his lips. That damn bottom lip was going to look so good around his cock. “Red, yellow, green. Ok?” He waited for Clint's nod before continuing. “I'm going to give you a choice today. We can go straight pleasure but you don't get to come. Or we can see how you respond to a mix of pain and pleasure and you come on my command or not at all.”

Clint blinked. “The one where I get to come, Sir.”

Phil smiled, “Wise choice.” He took Clint by the hand and led him over to the padded bench.  He carefully unfolded the soft blanket draped along one end to cover the bench. He took a seat on the low stool and then directed Clint to lay down on his back along the bench. “Arms above your head. I'm not going to tie you today unless I have to.”

He leaned forward and ran his hand down Clint's chest and then repeated the movement with his fingernails, scraping hard enough that little red lines appeared on Clint's skin. Clint arched slightly into the movement, earning himself a hard swat on the stomach from Sir. “No moving.”

Phil continued on like that, alternating soft little strokes down Clint's chest and arms with scrapes of his fingernails until he saw Clint's eyes start to glaze over. His breathing was starting to even out, ragged breaths transitioning into something softer, smoother. The pain/pleasure mix was taking him down slow and steady. Phil slowed his movements, letting the strokes become almost desultory. Phil stroked his fingertips along Clint's nipples and then followed them with a scrape of his fingernails.

Clint's eyes drifted all the way shut, his body relaxing completely. He was so gorgeous like this, entire body relaxed except for his dick, standing out hard and flushed dark red from arousal. Phil slid his hands down to Clint's thighs, scraped his nails hard along the heavy muscles there. Reached down and nudged his legs open, let his fingers drift down to stroke teasingly along the base of Clint's cock and balls.

Phil could play here all day. He leaned forward, nudged his nose against the delicate skin of Clint's balls and inhaled the musky smell. Licked a broad stripe from balls to the head of Clint's cock until he got just a taste of his boy's precome. He smiled at Clint's whimper, reached down and tugged hard at Clint's balls until the whimper became a cry.

He pulled back again, stood up and stripped off his own jeans. His cock was heavy in his hands at the sight of Clint spread out so sweetly before him. He tapped Clint's lip, that sinful plush bottom lip, with his finger. “Open up for me.” He gripped himself hard clamping down on his cock when Clint obediently opened his mouth, little pink tongue swiping along his lip. “I'm going to feed you my cock, you show me how good you can suck it.”

Clint blinked up at him, gave him a slow nod as Phil carefully swung one leg over the bench to straddle Clint's throat. It was just the right height and width to allow him to slide himself forward to bump the head of his fat cock against Clint's lips.

Clint's mouth closed over him with a sigh and then Phil began to carefully press himself forward into the tight heat of Clint's mouth. His boy was a born cocksucker, his tongue sliding around the head of Phil's cock with little flicks even as Clint worked to take him deeper.

Phil was careful not to press too deep, keeping his thrusts shallow as he rocked forward into Clint's mouth. His balls were slapping against Clint's chin with each forward movement. Clint was making little contented sounds against his dick, the sounds translating to vibration against Phil's skin. His eyes were hazy, completely gone, like he was all hollowed out and empty for Phil to fill him up.

Soon, Phil thought. Not today, he had something else in mind for today.  But soon he'd be training Clint to relax his throat and swallow the entire nine inches of Phil's cock down so that when he came his boy wouldn't miss a drop.  He allowed himself a few more shallow thrusts into the hot wetness of Clint's mouth before pulling back.

Clint let out a frustrated moan, his head raising up off the bench as he tried to chase after Phil's cock with his mouth.  Phil sank one hand in Clint's hair and forced his head back hard.  "Down."  He pulled Clint's hair hard enough to hurt. "Stay."

Clint licked his bottom lip. "Please let me keep sucking you, Sir.  I want--"

Phil put his other hand against Clint's throat, not pressing down just letting the weight of it settle Clint back where he wanted him.  He leaned in close, his mouth against his boy's ear.  "It's not about what you want.  It's about submitting to me."

Clint shuddered at his words, a whole body movement that left him relaxed and pliant under Phil's hands.  "Yes, Sir."

Phil loosened his hold in Clint's hair and stroked his fingers through the soft strands.  "That's right."  He kissed Clint's temple.  "Now turn over for me."

He watched as Clint rearranged himself on the bench so that he was facedown.  Phil directed him where he wanted him, arms crossed to cradle his face, legs spread wide.  Phil made him raise his hips just enough to slide a small pillow underneath so that his ass was angled up, the perfect position for anything Phil wanted to do to it.

Phil reached down and wrapped a hand around Clint's cock, pulling it down far enough that he couldn't press it against the pillow or the bench.  He let out a little laugh at Clint's moan of frustration.  Surely his boy didn't think he was going to get off that way.

He gave Clint's cock a few slow strokes, loving the desperate little sounds Clint made in response.  Clint's dick had been leaking a steady drip of precome for long minutes and there was plenty for Phil to slick up his hand.  He gave him another tight squeeze and then drew his hand away.

He ran his palms over the globes of Clint's spectacular ass and then gave him a hard smack on first one side and then the other.  Clint moaned and Phil took it as an invitation to do it again, starting a steady stream of open handed slaps that he trailed from the top of Clint's ass all the way down his calves and back up.

Clint started squirming under the blows, especially when Phil concentrated on the same spot over and over until the little patch of skin on the back of Clint's thigh glowed pink and warm.  Phil stopped, reached down and gave Clint's dick a rough squeeze.  "Be still. Green, yellow or red?""  

"Green, Sir."  Clint said and he sounded miserable even though his dick was still swollen and leaking.

Phil smiled, relaxing his hand and stroking along Clint's cock again.  "Good boy. You're doing so good for me.  We're almost done with this first lesson.  You'll take a little more for me, won't you?"

"Yes, Sir."

As soon as the words left Clint's mouth, Phil returned to the spot on his thigh with three hard slaps before moving up to spank his ass again.  He covered both sides until Clint's ass was red and covered with Phil's handprints.  He wanted Clint to feel it everytime he sat down, to remember how sweetly he laid himself out for Phil's attention.

"Gorgeous," Phil said as he stood up and straddled the bench again. He sat back on Clint's thighs, balancing his weight between Clint's body and the bench.  "I'm going to come all over this beautiful ass of yours while it's still hot and red."  

He felt Clint shudder beneath him.  "You did so good for me.  Such a good boy.  You just lay right here and concentrate on how I feel above you and if you're a very good boy I'll give you a little reward when I'm done."

Clint moaned, nodding his head.

Phil took his own cock in hand, he was leaking and wet and so close just from having Clint spread out underneath him.  He pressed the head of his cock along the crease of Clint's ass, just slick enough to slide along the reddened flesh.  He couldn't wait to plunge inside, to train his boy to take him.  He thought about the long hours he would spend stretching Clint’s virgin hole, having him practice with fingers and plugs, keeping himself lubed up and open until he could take Phil’s dick on command.  Oh, he was going to have such fun making Clint his.

For now he wrapped his fingers around his dick and started to stroke, hard and fast, clamping his thighs down around Clint's.  Clint's ass was so hot and perfect and pink, the outlines of Phil's handprints clearly defined.  It didn't take long, Phil's dick fucking up into his hand while he could feel Clint beneath him.  He came with a shout, spraying his come all over Clint's ass and onto the small of his back.

Clint was making frantic little noises beneath him, trying and failing to keep his hips from thrusting forward into the air.  Phil rubbed his hand over one cheek, gathering up his come and then pressing the tip of one long finger against Clint's hole.

"Are you ready for your reward?"  Phil asked.

"Please, please, Sir." Clint begged.

"I'm going to finger you, I want you to think of nothing but my fingers stroking into your ass and I want you to come for me.  I’m pushing my come up inside you, slicking the way.  You like that, don’t you? My come in your ass.  Just think how perfect it will be when you’re coming on my dick."  Phil said as he worked his come covered finger into Clint's tight hole.

 

Clint let out a low sound somewhere between a moan and a cry as Phil breached him.  Phil kept his finger still for a moment and then used his other hand to spread more come around and into Clint's hole as he started to finger him open.  

"You're doing so good, Clint."  Phil murmured.  "So good for me.  Making me so proud."  He kept up the steady stream of praise and he worked his fingers in further, first one and then another.  He was careful to stretch him and move slow.  

Clint's body relaxed around him, the tight little hole fluttering around his fingers and pulling him in further until Phil flicked his fingers against Clint's prostate.  Clint was making little nonsense noises with each swipe of Phil's fingers and his body opened up beautifully.

"I want you to come for me, Clint."  Phil said, pressing the pad of his finger against the little bump until he felt Clint's whole body go rigid.  A moment later Clint's orgasm tore through him, his body going going limp and boneless beneath Phil.

Phil carefully pulled his fingers out, stroking his other hand along Clint's back.  "Perfect."  He whispered.

**

Afterwards Clint only had vague memories of Sir carefully cleaning him up and helping him over to the playroom bed.  He was still floating somewhere in that pleasant haze.  Sir was his only touchstone, the only real thing.  Everything else was irrelevant.

When he finally came back to himself, he was wrapped up in Phil's arms on the bed.  The afternoon sun was gone and the lights of the city were just starting to appear in the twilight sky.  

He turned his head and pressed a soft kiss against the scars on Phil's chest.  He wanted to stay like this forever.

Phil's arms around him tightened.  "Hey. I was beginning to think you were going to hibernate."

Clint rubbed his cheek against the hair on Phil's chest.  "I think I could.  This was amazing.  Thank you."

Phil's hand caught his chin, pulled his head up so they were eye to eye.  "Thank you."  He gave him a gentle kiss.  

"So," Clint trailed a hand down Phil's chest to the flat plane of his belly.  "About those bags and bags of toys you bought.  When's my next lesson, Sir?"

Phil smirked and pulled him in for another kiss.

 


End file.
